3 Kids and A Crappy Dad
by Zimothy
Summary: If John didn't already know he was ten kinds of crazy, he probably would have come to that verdict the day he allowed little Castiel Novak to weasel his way into their messed up family. At least the kid could aim a gun.
1. Family

**3 Kids & A Shitty Dad**

John's eyes narrowed, gaze concentrated on the skinny eleven year old who was currently wielding a shotgun and barring the man from entry into the bathroom of their cheap motel. The man rested a hand on his hip, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I swear, I'm not going to hit him. Put the gun down." He paused, almost horrified at himself for trying to mollify a child. John was given a petulant glare and he reached out a large hand to shove the shotgun away from where it was hovering halfway to aiming at his chest. He felt the cool steel beneath his fingertips for a moment and didn't give the kid another second to react, wrenching it back and crouching down to haul the boy up over one shoulder.

"Put me down!" Small fists pounded against his shoulder and John grunted whenever a kicking foot landed a painful shot to his ribs. "Put me down! Put me down! Dean! Deeeeannnn! Dean, he's got me!" The boy wailed in John's ear.

"Christ, Castiel! Could you scream any louder?" John snapped, marching away from the bathroom and towards one of the beds, where Sammy was perched nervously. Sam cuddled up between the two headboard pillows, his toddler fingers wringing a ratty blanket that he'd found God-knows-where. John placed the shotgun down on the nightstand, tossing Castiel onto the bed and wincing at the wail that escaped the boy.

"Run Dean! Save yourself!" Castiel yelled, scrambling to get off of the bed and releasing a gargled choke when John caught the back of his hoodie and threw him against the bed once more. John's brows furrowed and his face contorted into a scowl. He grabbed Castiel by the back of the head, shoving his face into the pillow next to Sammy's knee to try and muffle the kid's screaming.

The bathroom door creaked open and he heard the sound of little sneakers pounding against the cheap carpet.

"Dean." John called out, his voice stern and leaving no room for argument. Dean froze mid-step, a deer in the headlights. Castiel kicked and writhed and John raised a hand to smack the boy's bottom, instantly receiving a yelp before Castiel went still, heaving into the pillow.

He eased up on holding Castiel's face down, looking up at his eight year old son and watching Dean freeze in the midst of inching towards the door.

"Why. Dean. Does Castiel seem to think that I would want to kill my own son? Could you enlighten me?" John asked, his voice strained. Castiel squirmed and John moved his hand to grab the back of the boy's hoodie, bodily hauling him up, turning him, and forcing him to sit. Castiel squeaked when John pressed a warning hand to the top of his head, both of them watching Dean.

Dean shifted awkwardly for a moment, obviously unable to think of any excuses on the spot. He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath and John grunted.

"Speak up, son."

"I didn't ... think... he'd take it iseriously/i." Dean mumbled, voice the tiniest bit louder. Castiel's cheeks puffed out, looking about ready to say something, but John shoved his head forward a little to silence the kid.

"Dean."

Dean glanced up, eyes bright and sheepish through the growing fringe of brown that tickled his forehead. "Yeah, Dad?"

"What. did. you. do." John grounded out. Whatever had occured, it had been enough for Dean to make some kind of offhanded comment about John's reaction. A comment which Castiel would, of course, take seriously - mostly because John doubted the kid had never understood the idea of sarcasm or exaggeration before joining their ragtag family.

"Dean is very inept at skateboarding." Castiel blurted out suddenly. Dean's eyes went wide, a look of betrayal crossing his face. John threw the words around in his head, about ready to ask for elaboration whenever Castiel filled in the blanks for him. "Your car is also very inept at preventing injury."

John's face went through a range of emotions, finally taking note of Dean's split lip and the way he was favoring his right leg. Dean cowered between the entry table and the front door, looking as if he'd rather the ground swallow him up than to deal with his father's temper.

Castiel released a pained noise and John realized he'd been gripping the boy's head a bit too tightly. He jerked his hand off and Castiel instantly flew off of the bed to stand protectively in front of Dean, his gawky limbs barely concealing the younger boy.

John sighed loudly, and with aggravation. He felt Sam come crawling up along the bed to wrap small fingers around John's hand. He looked down at his youngest son and rolled his eyes.

"Did you at least clean the blood off of the car?"

"Y-yes sir." Dean squeaked from behind Castiel. John grunted and lifted Sammy up into his arms.

"Can't do much else. Lets get some lunch."

Castiel's arms fell slowly from their guarded stance in front of Dean, his gaze wary. It reminded John that a year and a half with the Winchesters doesn't erase the previous ten years of foster care and things that John honestly doesn't want to think about.

John held his hand out to Castiel, smile weak. "Cheeseburgers sound good to you, Castiel?"

Castiel's face changed from hesitant to relieved before he nodded softly. "They sound very good, sir." He murmured, reaching out to take John's hand. (much to Dean's jealous protest.)

Yeah, they'd be alright.

* * *

Probably will have DeanCas in the future. Mostly drabbles to look forward to, all in this AU-verse. if I remember to write more. :I


	2. Posture

**Posture**

It took Dean all of two minutes to realize that something was off about Castiel. It took another five for Castiel to notice Dean's staring.

He quirked an eyebrow, fingers rubbing against the page he'd been prepared to turn. He tilted his head to the side, suddenly looking much younger than sixteen years. "Is something wrong, Dean?" Castiel's voice was soft, barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.

Dean pursed his lips, setting down the duffel bag he'd brought into the motel room and stalking over to his friend. He didn't speak for a moment, circling Castiel's seat at the small table. He reached out, grabbing the front of Castiel's book and moving the cover. He snorted, of course Castiel would be brushing up on Latin in his free time.

"Dean?" Castiel inquired softly. Dean dragged his eyes up to stare at older boy with scrutiny. Castiel, realizing that Dean wasn't going to tell him anytime soon, turned back to his book to continue reading. Things fell together with a click and Dean pressed his hand against Castiel's stiff upper back.

The reaction was instantaneous. Castiel breathed in sharply through his nose, arching away from Dean's touch and dropping his book against the table with a soft thud. Dean's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, pressing harder and feeling at the material under Castiel's button-down shirt.

"Dean, stop that." Castiel pleaded softly, squirming to the side to try and free himself from Dean's touch. Dean knew that Castiel's back was one of the only places that his friend had declared off-limits, but Castiel's behavior was enough to merit breaking that rule. Dean's lips contorted into a scowl and he closed his hands into a fist, nails making a scraping noise against the rough material beneath Castiel's shirt.

"What the hell is this?" Dean breathed harshly, grabbing at Castiel's shirt to keep the other boy from pulling away. Regardless of being 3 years younger, Dean wasn't about to let Castiel dodge his questions. Castiel reached back to bat a hand at Dean's arm.

"Its nothing, Dean." His answer was given a snort of doubt in return. Dean tugged on the back of Castiel's collar, peeking at the material underneath.

"Is this some kind of corset? What the hell man?" He growled, pinching the fabric and eyes going wide with how difficult it was to pull the material. "Are you trying to crush yourself or something?"

Castiel stood, knocking Dean out of the way and towering over him. "Its nothing of the sort, Dean. Its called a posture brace." Castiel took his book, brushing past Dean and making a beeline for the nearest bed. Dean followed him, face incredulous.

"A posture brace? Dude you've got like, the best posture out of anyone I know. Why the hell would you need one of those? Why would you WANT one?" Dean snatched Castiel's book from his hands, despite the sound of protest from his friend. "Don't read your Godamn book! Answer me!"

Castiel looked up slowly at Dean, brows furrowed. "I..." He paused, his normally emotionless face looking miffed. "I'm not sure... I thought.." He trailed off, looking somewhere past Dean's ear from his seat on the bed. "Posture is essential to keeping your back and shoulders healthy..." He muttered after a moment.

Dean thunked the book onto Castiel's head rather violently, wrenching it back before the older boy could snatch it away from him. "That's great, Cas, if this had anything to do with your health. You eat cheesburgers and pie all the time, so what's the real reason?"

Castiel's gaze trailed back to Dean's face, staring at him. "I don't know." He confessed after a moment. Dean stared back and Castiel stood up stiffly. "I don't. I just have to. Its... the thought has been plaguing me for weeks."

Dean's expression became pinched. "Your posture has been... plaguing you?" He squinted, as if it would help bring clarity to the situation. Castiel gave a small, helpless shrug.

Dean rose a hand to run it through his hair, waving the book around. "And WHY would it be plaguing you? Its not like burning bodies or killing vampires has brought you any sort of..." he flopped the book up and down, "guilt trip... or something."

Castiel's lips quirked in an almost-smile as Dean continued.

"So why should this? I mean, dude, seriously? You know how much your ass sticks out when you stand up straight?" Dean blurted, his neck and ears suddenly flushing pink. Castiel's quirked lips turned into a full blown smirk.

"I was not aware that you had been inspecting my assets, Dean. I apologize."

Dean spluttered, shoving the book against Castiel's chest. "Yeah, well. Its hard not to whenever its in my face every time I have to help you out of a damn grave." He stalked towards the duffel bag, pulling out containers of salt, as well as canned food and plastic utensils.

Castiel pulled the book from where he'd been holding it to his chest, opening it and flipping back to the page he'd been reading.

"Hey, Cas!" Castiel looked up just in time to catch a can of ravioli that was tossed at him. He looked at the can and then back to Dean.

Dean snatched up a box of plastic forks, walking over to Castiel with his own can held between his ribs and elbow. He sat down, tearing the box open and cursing when a few forks went flying. Castiel held back a smile, setting his book down and gingerly taking the box away from Dean.

"I believe John will be back soon. He took Samuel to the library earlier for research." He said softly, removing two forks and the box on the night stand. Dean grunted, struggling with the small can opener he'd brought over. Castiel huffed, setting his own can down and grabbing Dean's - despite the younger boy's protest of, "I can do it!".

Castiel set it on the nightstand, cranking the can opener. He pinched the lid off, setting it in the trash can next to the bed and handing it to Dean before repeating the process with his own can.

Dean dug into his ravioli with gusto. "Y'know.." He muttered through a mouthful.

"That you shouldn't speak with your mouth full?" Castiel offered, biting back a smile when Dean elbowed him.

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda." Dean said dismissively. "Anyway. Y'know that me and Dad and Sam don't care how good or bad your posture is, right?" As he spoke, Dean stirred his ravioli. Castiel gingerly bit into his own, thumbing the corner of his mouth instantly to prevent any sauce staining his lips.

Dean continued, "I mean, you came with us 'cause we like you. If Dad didn't like you, it wouldn't've mattered how good your posture was, 'cause you wouldn't be with us. So... I mean." Another bite, though Dean waited until he'd swallowed to keep talking. "I mean, you're awesome, Cas. A little hunching now and then might just do you some good."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak once he'd finished his current mouthful, but Dean elbowed him again. "Lemme finish, dude." He growled. Castiel glanced heavenward in a curt roll of his eyes, but kept silent.

"I know they did stuff to you, I know a lot of people hurt you... I know that there is stuff you've gone through that even /I/ couldn't compare. But..." Dean stirred his ravioli, "but you're with us now, and I know Dad's not around a lot, you've got me and Sammy. We don't care how perfect you are or aren't, cause you're like. You're Cas, man." He paused, biting down on a forkful of the cheap pasta and looking up at Castiel after he'd finished chewing. "I'd sell my soul before I'd let you leave."

Castiel paused, his fork halfway to his mouth and looking at Dean. He stared, gaze focused on the honest eyes that stared back at him.

"Those are strong words, Dean." He finally said, voice somber. Dean cracked a wide grin, dropping his fork into his empty can.

"They're strong feelings, my man." Dean said, standing up to toss his can out. "You're family. Don't ever think otherwise." Dean licked his lips, reaching up to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. Castiel went silent, eating the rest of his canned food with a thoughtful expression.

"Now..." Dean began. Castiel glanced up at him, thumb rubbing over his mouth and sucking the pasta off of it.

Dean pointed to Castiel's chest. "Go take that damn corset off. You look like you've got a stick up your ass."

* * *

I'm a hungry puppy. I'll do tricks for you if you give me reviews, they're like doggie biscuits. only tastier. :V


	3. Care

** Care  
**  
Castiel: 14  
Dean: 11  
Sam: 7

"Here's a hundred, I'll be back in two weeks. That should be enough for groceries, don't go spending it on anything stupid." John had said. Castiel remembered the the fatigue and seriousness in John's face before he'd handed over the bill before the Impala had disappeared down the mountain road in a haze of dirt.

That had been two and a half weeks ago. John hadn't answered his phone in days and Castiel was starting to get nervous. He shifted, grip tightening around Sammy's hand, making sure the 7 year old didn't wander away from the medicine aisle that they were currently standing in. His pale eyes read along each of the labels, lips pursed in a scowl.

"Castiel?" Sam asked softly, tugging on the teen's hand. Castiel tore his eyes away from the cough syrup label he'd been reading to glance down at the youngest Winchester. Sam shifted awkwardly, tugging on the zipper to his thick jacket and looking up at Castiel imploringly.

"Yes, Sam?" He asked softly, reaching out to grab a bottle of NyQuil and wincing at the price. He replaced it on the shelf quickly.

"Is Dean gonna die?" Sam's voice was hushed, a slight edge of fear coating his words. Castiel shook his head, squatting down and grabbing a more generic brand of cough medicine.

"He's not going to die, Sam. He just has a cold. We're getting him medication so he'll get recover faster." Satisfied with his choice, Castiel pulled Sam with him towards the checkout, pausing when he caught sight of a discounted box containing medical masks. He grabbed them as well, knowing it'd be better to spend the extra few dollars to keep Sam and himself healthy, than to save the money and risk both of them catching whatever had befallen Dean.

"Are you suuuuuure?" Sam wheedled, pulling on Castiel's hand for more leverage to try and grab a candy bar from nearby the clerk's counter of the small pharmacy. Castiel tugged on Sam's arm, giving his hand a warning squeeze. Theft was used only as a last resort, not for personal pleasures like candy.

Castiel placed the cough syrup and masks on the service counter, nodding once at the clerk. He released Sam's hand, reaching into his pocket and grabbing the tattered wallet he'd brought along. "Nobody can be sure of anything, Samuel. But, if we take good care of him, he shouldn't decline in health." Castiel said, peeking at the ten and twenty dollar bill within. He scowled, taking out the ten and handing it over.

The clerk pursed his lips, ringing up the purchase and handing Castiel the meager change. Castiel nodded at him, taking the bag and pulling Sam out of the store. They started the two mile trek back to the old summer cabin that John had set them up in. Apparently, it had belonged to one of his hunter friends who went south during the winter to hunt werewolves in Boca Raton.

They were a little over halfway up the mountain whenever Sam started lagging behind, pulling on Castiel's arm to get him to slow down. "Castiel, I'm tired." Sam whined, twisting his hand free of the teen's grasp. Castiel stopped, watching a truck drive down the mountain slope before moving behind Sam to open the small backpack that the 7 year old was wearing. He pulled out a bottle of water, replacing it with the cough syrup and medical masks and zipping the backpack closed.

"Here, drink some water." Castiel urged, uncapping the bottle and handing it over. Sam drank from it greedily, caving the plastic in a little with each gulp. Castiel grabbed the bottle, easing it away from Sam's mouth.

"Let me have some, please." He asked softly. Sam handed it over with a sheepish smile, wiping the water from his mouth.

"Sorry, I forgot we only had one left."

Castiel grinned weakly, tipping his head back and drinking as little as his parched throat would allow. Forcing himself not to just suck down the rest of it, Castiel capped the bottle, glancing at the small remainder with a scowl. He motioned to Sam to turn around, opening the younger boy's backpack, sticking the water bottle inside before zipping it shut.

They continued walking, their pace slowing as Sam grew more and more tired. By the time they could see the very roof of the cabin near the top of the slope, Sam was running out of breath and Castiel's legs were burning. He pulled his hand out of Sam's grasp, kneeling down.

"Climb on my back." He muttered. Sam looked horrified, fingers jumping up to fiddle nervously with the straps of his backpack.

"On your back? Are you sure? I can walk a little further, its okay!" Sam reasoned, scuffing his dirty sneakers on the gravel.

Castiel huffed out a sigh. "Just this once, okay? I don't want you to get sick, either."

Sam looked ready to continue protesting, but fatigue seemed to win over and he clambered up onto Castiel's back. If he noticed the bodily flinch that came with the initial touch, he didn't say anything. Castiel stood, back stiff and arms already shaking with exertion. He laced his fingers together, creating a seat with his palms for Sam to rest on.

"I'm sorry I'm not stronger, Castiel." Sam muttered into the older boy's ear. Castiel smiled thinly, resuming his hike back up the mountain slope towards the cabin.

Once the house was in sight, Sam wriggled off of Castiel's back and went running for the cabin. Grabbing the key from underneath of the welcome mat, Sam unlocked the door and flung it open, running inside. Castiel followed him at a much slower pace.

"Dean! We're back!" Sam crowed, running into the kitchen. He set the backpack on the table and Castiel walked over to the tattered couch in the living room, sitting down tiredly. Sam puttered around for a moment, procuring a tablespoon with a shout of triumph.

"How was the walk?" Dean's rough voice drifted quietly from the bedroom doorway. Sam rummaged in his backpack for the cough syrup, pulling it out and carrying it over to Dean. Dean, who's face was pale and smile weak, took the medicine from him and walked over to sit beside Castiel on the couch with a tired exhale.

"Has Dad answered the phone yet?" Dean croaked, coughing wetly into the bend of his elbow. He cleared his throat, brows furrowed as he tried to open the cough syrup. He handed it over to Castiel after a defeated noise escaped the back of his throat. Castiel pinched the lid, twisting it back and forth before opening it with a grunt. Dean muttered his thanks, pouring some of the liquid onto the tablespoon Sam had given him.

"I'm afraid I haven't been able to contact John in the past week. I thought that it was our location that was blocking the signal, but I still could not get the call through while we were at the pharmacy." Castiel explained, watching Dean grimace at the taste of the medication before re-capping it.

Sam came back with the box of medical masks, sitting on Dean's other side and fighting with the box, tearing it open. Dean watched him with a look of amusement, taking the box and passing it to Castiel after Sam had pulled one out.

"Good idea, Cas." Dean said softly after Castiel thanked him and tugged the mask on. They didn't bring up John's location, knowing that wondering would bring only questions, and no answers.

Sam thudded his head against Dean's shoulder, grimacing whenever Dean released another body-wracking cough, his hand flying over his mouth reflexively. A noise of disgust escaped the eleven year old and he shot up, running into the kitchen and spitting mucus out into the sink.

"Ewwwwww." Sam whined, crinkling his nose underneath the mask and looking at Castiel. Castiel shrugged, grateful that the doctor's mask hid the way his lips turned into a worried scowl.

That night, Castiel used the last of their bread to make grilled cheese sandwiches, heating up one of the last cans of soup they had to go with it. Dean sat at the table, his forehead pressed against the old wood, drifting in and out of sleep while watching Castiel cook. Sam was sitting across from him, preoccupied with a Lewis Carrol book that Castiel had found on one of the shelves. His brows furrowed as he wrote words he didn't know in a small notebook for Castiel to go over with him later.

Castiel placed two bowls on the table, a sandwich for each, and nibbled on the bread heel that had been at the end of the bag. He pressed the back of his hand to Dean's forehead, scowl deepening at the heat that radiated against his knuckles. Dean opened his eyes wearily, smiling up at Castiel and thanking him for the soup. He reached out, grasping for his bottle of Gatorade and cradling it to his lips before sipping from it. Granted, the Gatorade wasn't apple juice, but it was the only thing they had that helped lessen the pain in Dean's burning throat.

Sam dog-eared the page in his book, sliding it to the side and pulling his own plate forward with a sound of delight. Castiel sat down silently, bringing Sam's notebook towards himself and flipping through it, trying to decipher the 7 year old's uneven scrawl.

Feeling eyes on him as he filled out definitions and nibbled on his bread heel, Castiel looked up to see Dean staring at him, sandwich half eaten and soup bowl nearly empty.

"Is something wrong, Dean?" Castiel asked, head tilted to the side. Dean pursed his lips, sleepy eyes narrowing.

"Why aren't you eating?" He accused, looking just about ready to shove his sandwich at the older boy. Castiel looked back down at Sam's notebook, scribbling that frabjous was a word created by the author, and was most likely meant to define something joyful and festive.

"I am eating. There was not enough food for a third sandwich." He explained softly, flipping his pencil over whenever one of his 'i's was dotted sloppily. He bit off another piece of the bread heel, chewing it slowly.

"Bullshit." Dean snapped, ignoring Sam's displeased noise at the other boy's harsh language.

"It isn't up for discussion, Dean. You're sick and Sam is the youngest. Eat your food." Castiel's voice was bordering on icy, his gaze never once leaving the notebook. Dean looked over to Sam, who was now guiltily looking at his half-eaten bowl of soup and the crusts from his sandwich that he'd torn off.

"I don't want your crust, Sam." Castiel said before Sam could even finish sliding the plate over. "Eat them, they're good for you."

Sam dragged the plate back towards himself slowly, grimacing as he started munching on the cheese-covered crusts.

Castiel stood once he'd deemed both Sam and Dean's plates empty, sliding Sam's notebook back over to the younger boy and taking the dishes to the sink to wash them.

When nightfall finally came, Dean's cough returned with a vengeance. Castiel sat on the edge of Dean's bed, knuckles pressed against the 11 year old's forehead and cheeks. He scowled behind his doctor's mask, watching Dean start to shiver. Sam stood in the doorway, watching nervously as his older brother let out a sobbing groan and coughed violently into his pillow. A disgusted sound came from the back of the boy's throat and Castiel leaned off of the bed to bring a wastebasket up to Dean's cheek. Dean peered out of tired eyes, spitting a mouthful of mucus into the basket and flopping his head back onto the pillow.

"Castiel...?" Sam asked softly, hugging a pillow to his chest. Castiel set the trash bin down and glanced up at Sam. Sam fidgeted, hovering in the doorway nervously. "Is Dean gonna be okay?"

Castiel, not one for lying to make others feel better, looked back down at Dean before standing up. "I don't know, Sam."

* * *

I'm not very nice. :  
Contrary to popular belief, reviews make my day. hit the button, you know you want to.


	4. Nightmares

**Nightmares**

John wasn't jolted awake by screaming, he wasn't stirred from his sleep by muffled sobs, nor was he woken up by someone climbing into his bed. His eyes snapped open whenever he heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed by the sound of a child retching into the toilet.

John sat up quickly, his first thoughts jumping to his two children, but seeing them curled up together on the other bed, he quickly relaxed. A glance to the slightly rumpled pull-out couch that was void of a ten year old's body let John know that the source of vomiting was coming from Castiel. John stood slowly, running a hand over tired eyes and pressing his feet to the cool carpeting of the motel floor. He stood, padding over to the bathroom and testing the knob, scowling when it didn't budge - locked.

He contemplated knocking softly, but given that doing things 'gentle' really wasn't his style, John rapped on the door. "Castiel, you okay?"

"I'm f-fine, s-sir!" Castiel squeaked, the last work ending up at more of a heaved sob than anything. John frowned. Castiel had been staying with them for only a few weeks, but he had hoped the kid would have gotten past the formalities already - especially when he was in the midst of upchucking his entire dinner at two seventeen in the morning. John sighed, resting his elbow on the door frame.

"Castiel, I'm gonna ask you to unlock this door, all right? Either that or I'll unlock it myself." John allowed the warning to hang in the air, listening to the sounds of a few more dry heaves and a pained groan. There was shuffling and then the doorknob clicked. John grasped the handle, pushing the door open and almost regretting it in an instant.

Castiel stood awkwardly in the bathroom, large bags under his eyes, which were wide and somewhat frightened. His oversized shirt had vomit stains on it, and Castiel rose a hand to wipe his arm along his mouth, thin body shaking. John stepped forward and Castiel took three steps back, his lower lip trembling dangerously.

"I w-was going to clean the mess up, sir!" Castiel blurted, stumbling and having to sit heavily on the edge of the tub. His face was pale, eyes skittish - probably still reliving the last dredges of whatever nightmare had forced the kid out of bed and into a bout of violent nausea.

John grunted, taking another look at Castiel before he went to grab one of the small hand towels from the sink. He turned the faucet on, dipping the towel beneath the flow of water.

"Its fine, kid." John gruffed, turning off the faucet and approaching the thin boy. Castiel's eyes became panicked for a moment, until John's hand clasped his shoulder the other one rising to wipe the towel along his face. The action in itself seemed to throw Castiel for a loop and he went frozen in John's grasp, letting the man wipe at his face and neck, cleaning it of all traces of vomit. Castiel's breathing was shallow as his body began shaking even more, small tremors that John could feel in the very bones of his fingers.

He ignored it.

"Your shirt's filthy." John muttered, placing the soiled towel to the side and taking his hand off Castiel's shoulder. "Go ahead and take it off so we can wash it in the morning."

John's words seemed affect the kid more than he'd anticipated. Castiel shook his head feverishly. "It's all right, sir. I'll just wash this one in the sink. I wouldn't want to be any more of a hassle an-" Castiel cut himself off when John's hand cuffed him in the head.

"Shut your damn mouth and take your shirt off. You're not sleeping anywhere smelling like that."

Castiel scrambled to comply, the small use of force from John being enough to jar him into responding. His gawky, shaking hands pulled at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up slowly. The last thing John saw on Castiel's face was a look of pleading before the oversized t-shirt was pulled over his head.

John didn't notice at first - he didn't notice a lot of things. He simply took the shirt and tossed it over with the hand towel before going to retrieve a replacement. The hunter was halfway out of the bathroom door when his mind finally caught up and he stopped dead.

John whirled around and Castiel froze like a deer in the headlights - halfway to putting a towel around his shoulders. The man narrowed his eyes. "Castiel. Turn around."

"But- I- I'm sorry for waking you up, sir! I p-promise if it happens again I'll go outside!" Castiel blurted out, clutching the towel to his shoulders. John stepped back into the bathroom and Castiel jumped to his feet. "Please, Mr. Winchester!"

John froze with his arm out, fingers nearly brushing Castiel's shoulder before he wrenched his hand back. A few moments of silence stretched between them, only broken by the occasional rustle of Castiel's towel when a particularly strong shudder tore through him.

"What exactly are you expecting me to do?" John finally asked, his voice low. Castiel snapped his eyes back up to the older man's, brows furrowing just the slightest bit.

"I..." His eyebrows shot up, as if suddenly coming to a realization. "I don't know. I just thought..." He trailed off, looking at the ground in a sheepish manner. John grunted out a sigh, running his hand over his face.

"Look, kid. I just want to see your back. I already saw part of it so there's no use in hiding." He reasoned, pressing a hand against the back of his neck and scratching at the short hairs there.

Castiel watched John for another second before he slowly turned around, letting the towel slide from his shoulders. John held back a curse, hissing softly through his teeth and suddenly feeling at a loss for words. Thick, long scars ran along the expanse of his small back, obvious signs of multiple whippings that littered his skin. Some of the marks still showed signs of healing - bright red welts with scabs running through the center, probably only a few weeks old.

"...What the hell?" He finally croaked out.

"Dad?" Dean's sleepy voice called from the bathroom doorway. John looked over his shoulder just as Dean seemed to take in the situation, instantly awake. "Dad! Geeze!" He breathed out, shoving his way past John and grabbing onto Castiel. The older boy stiffened for a moment, but his posture relaxed as Dean forced him to turn around. Dean looked over his shoulder at John, levelling his father with a glare before he ushered Castiel out of the motel bathroom.

John was dumbfounded. Not only had his son just /glared/ at him, but he had kept such a monumental secret about Castiel from him for WEEKS. He couldn't help the weak smile that came to his lips, turning out the bathroom light as he walked back into the room. Dean had clambered onto the pull-out couch with Castiel - who was now wearing another shirt - and they were talking in hushed whispers. (Okay, so Dean was doing most of the talking while Castiel stared blankly back, but John figured that was just part of their psuedo-frienship)

John shook his head, walking over to the bed that little Sammy was sleeping in, and slipped under the covers.

"Dean." He grunted, brushing a few strands of hair out of Sammy's eyes. The whispers stopped, followed by the creaking of springs.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"You boys take the other bed, I'll share with Sammy tonight." As he spoke, John lifted the covers up closer to Sammy's shoulders, gently kissing the top of his youngest son's head. He listened to Dean coax Castiel off of the pull-out couch, and then the sounds of their feet shuffling to the second bed.

"Dean."

Rustling. "Yessir?"

John looked over his shoulder, seeing Castiel laying on his stomach on the far end of the bed and Dean curled up next to him. "I want the full story in the morning, you boys hear me? No secrets in this family."

Castiel peeked at John over Dean's head as Dean snuggled into his pillow. "Yessir." Dean called back in a muffled voice. John nodded once at Castiel before he turned back over and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sorry chaps, updating might be a little slow. Problems on the home-front here.

One of my classmates told me that I have the most fucked up family she's ever heard of that wasn't on TV. That wasn't very nice, was it? :/


	5. Stray

**Title:** Stray  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters**: Castiel, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Pairing:** Pre-Slash  
**Summary:**John knew that most kids had a habit of bringing home strays, but he was pretty sure this wasn't what most people had in mind.

-  
**Dean:** 7  
**Sam:**3

_Macomb, __Illinois_

The kid was back again, standing along the edge of the railway crossing that stretched across one of the main roads. John hovered a hand over his pistol, approaching with a wary step. School had just let out, and John knew Dean had some kind of association with this boy, but he wasn't really keen on finding out any true intentions. Sammy would be at the daycare for another few hours, Dean should have made his way over there by now - this was probably John's only chance to figure out whether this new friend of Dean's was human or not.

Dean hadn't given John a name for the boy, just that he was older than Dean and lived in the foster home down the street from the school. He had dark, disheveled hair and tired eyes that probably were bright blue once - but they'd been dulled from something. He was awkard looking, back far too rigid and clothes never fitting right. He always stared at things like he was just discovering their purpose - and John didn't like the way he stared at Dean whenever John swung by the elementary school to pick him up.

The boy looked up slowly, turning his head to stare at John. His satchel was sitting on the ground beside the edge of the railway, stuffed to the brim with books and papers. John froze, fingers pressing into the handle of his pistol.

No words were exchanged for the longest time, and then the boy crouched down, lifted his bag, stepped away from the railroad and brushed past John to head back down the street.

John released his grip on the gun, staring at the retreating form of the child.

That night, with Dean and Sammy sitting beside him and hot TV dinners on their laps, John brought up the kid from earlier. Dean's face seemed to light up in an instant, however, and it sent a feeling of guilt and dread through John.

"His name is Castiel - but I call him Cas cuz his name's too lame. He's in the 5th grade but he's really smart. He says they held him back 'cause he was home schooled last year and they didn't teach him the right stuff. He's super cool." Dean babbled, munching on a chicken nugget. Sammy dug his fingers into the small portion of macaroni on his plate and John grabbed a napkin to wipe at the toddler's face once the handful was eaten.

"Does he act weird at all, Dean?" John asked, poking Sammy's nose playfully. Sam crinkled his nose and pawed at his chicken nuggets. Dean hummed thoughtfully, eating a forkful of brownie.

"Yeah, he's real weird, but not like - bad weird. He's quiet, and he stands real straight. He doesn't like the dark much. The lights went out last week when it was raining real bad and Cas didn't like it at all. He got really scared, I think."

A small wave of relief washed over John. No demon or monster he knew of had any fear of the dark - but hopefully it wasn't some sort of hoax to throw John off his trail. Dean wiped at his face with a napkin, sliding off the motel bed and tossing his empty T.V. tray into the trash bin. John helped Sammy finish his food and Dean went to grab his homework out of his backpack.

"Cas is awesome, Dad. He helped me with all my math homework. I didn't even KNOW some of this stuff and then Cas was all 'you gotta do this cause of this' and then it was super easy to do."

John nodded and responded at the appropriate times, flipping open his journal to scribble down a quick entry about the possible ghost haunting the railway, and then another sentence or two about Castiel - just to be safe. Dean quieted down to get started on his homework, humming Led Zeppelin under his breath, and John started washing Sammy up for bed.

The next day, Castiel was outside with Dean when John went to pick him up. They exchanged a long and awkward staring session as Dean clambered into the car and started yelling his goodbyes out the window to Castiel. John acted before he'd even thought through on his plans, and nudged Dean with his elbow.

"Why don't you ask your friend if he wants to eat lunch with us?"

Dean's face looked like a kid on Christmas, but it fell just as fast. "He's not allowed, Dad."

John scowled, leaning over Dean to look at Castiel - who hovered on the steps of the school. "Hey, Cas. You wanna come eat with us? I hear JoAnne's has some great pie."

Castiel seemed startled, and stepped towards the car before catching himself and freezing in place. He shook his head, continuing to the car and standing outside Dean's window.

"I apologize, Mister Winchester. I can't. Perhaps this weekend?"

John - not one for being shot down - nodded gruffly. "That's fine. I'll pick both of you boys up on Friday after school lets out. Sound good?"

Castiel smiled softly, nodding. "That sounds very nice, Mister Winchester. Thank you for the invitation."  
John jerked his head in a nod and peeled out of the school's parking lot. The second they were on the road towards Sammy's daycare, Dean was blathering on about Castiel again.

"He knows about ghosts, Dad! He totally does, cause he was talking about a ghost haunting that railroad and he wrote a bunch of stuff down about the ghost and the reason it was killin' people, and he's so cool!" Dean blurted, pulling out a crinkled paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and John was surprised to see - not the scrawl of a child, but neat cursive with details and dates and even a photocopied image taped into the corner.  
John snatched the paper from Dean, staring at it with such surprise that he nearly drifted into oncoming traffic. Dean laughed - a delighted giggle of excitement - and John gave the paper back to his son.  
He and Castiel were going to have a talk on Friday, if anything else.

The next two days came and went with ease. John had found the grave with ease - thanks to Castiel's notes - and had salted & burned the body that same night. Even though the job was done, John felt obligated to follow through with taking Castiel and the boys out to lunch after school as promised.

When the final bell rang for school and John watched Castiel stiffly follow Dean down the steps and to the impala, John started to wonder about the child's upbringing - but dashed that thought as soon as it had come.  
Dean climbed into the back with Castiel (Sammy was buckled in his booster seat in the front) and John took them to the diner down the street that boasted the best pancakes in northern America. Castiel didn't move once during the entire trip - his back straight and hands clenched in his lap, nodding and responding dutifully to everything that Dean said.

They reached the diner and Castiel's face pulled into the tiniest of smiles. He slid along the booth bench to the window and Dean sat next to him with John and Sammy across the table. They ordered their food - after explaining to Castiel for the third time that John would be paying for his meal - and settled into an uncomfortable silence. Castiel sipped at his water and Dean sucked down his root beer, talking quietly to one another about classmates or something of the like.

The food showed up and John watched Castiel's eyes widen at the sight of the greasy cheeseburger that was settled in front of him, hot fries and a bottle of ketchup accompanying it.

John didn't start eating until Castiel gingerly took that first bite of the cheese and and onion-laden burger. The normally expressionless face contorted into a look of pure delight, and John was almost glad he'd witnessed that first real sign of emotion on Castiel's face.

They ate in relative silence until Castiel was halfway through his burger and nibbling on the fries.

"One of the many things I have missed from my previous life before joining my current foster family..." Castiel said wistfully, scooping up some ketchup with a fry and biting into it. Dean stopped mid-chew of his bacon cheddar burger and John tried to act more interested in wiping mustard off of Sammy's cheek.

"So you've been with a few families, then?" He asked, turning away from Sammy to stare Castiel down. "so... would you mind telling me how you know so much about ghosts?"

Castiel took a sip of his water, staring out the window and finishing his bite of cheeseburger.

"I've seen a lot of places, for someone my age." He turned to stare at John in that creepy, unsettling way. "I was once taken in by a hunter for a year - a man named Sebastian Vick."

John, floored, was suddenly unable to even think of anything to say. Sebastian had been killed a few years back on a hunt - an older man with a penchant for having a soft heart. It had been rumored that the guy had taken in a kid, but John hadn't believed those rumors for a second.

"Exactly how much do you know?" He croaked, clearing his throat and dipping three french fries into his ketchup. Castiel took a bite out of his burger and chewed it thoughtfully.

"I'm semi-fluent in Latin, French, Russian, Enochian and... German...but my German is atrocious." He confessed, having the audacity to look sheepish over the fact that he had trouble with a language that even John could barely grasp the basics of.

Dean, finished with his burger, smacked a hand on the table and drew everyone's attention to him. "Cas's family is terrible, dad! They don't let him leave the house except for school and like, five minutes on the weekends! And they make him study all the time!"

"My alotted free time on the weekends is actually one hundred and twenty minutes, Dean." Castiel interrupted, looking embarassed that Dean had dared speak up on his behalf.

"Same thing!" Dean barked, looking far more upset than John would have expected. Castiel shifted in his seat, stirring ketchup around on his plate with a french fry. He looked stiff, like he was locked in an invisible box of perfect posture. John ignored Dean's words to look at Castiel.

"You can lean back, you know. The seat's not going to bite you." John said, thinking his words would bring reassurance to Castiel. However, all they did was bring a look of horror to the child's face. Castiel shifted, straightening his back even more and wincing. John had a feeling it would be harder to leave this kid behind than he'd originally anticipated.

He took Castiel home, dropping him off at the end of the street as per the child's request, and took Dean and Sam back to the motel to start packing their things. They were going to leave first thing in the morning, once John had a good night's rest, and head out to Bobby's to replenish on supplies.

The following morning, John stepped outside of the motel with his arms full of bags to see Castiel standing next to the Impala with a small duffel bag, reading an old book. John froze mid-step and Castiel looked up, completely unsurprised.

"I dislike the idea of intruding on your family, Mister Winchester..." Castiel began, closing his book and holding tightly to it. "But... I would appreciate it greatly if you could take me as far as the state line. I'm afraid my foster family isn't..." He paused, seeming to mull over his words for a long moment before continuing. "Providing the proper... care... And I would like to try and make a living on my own."

While Castiel had been talking, Dean had emerged from the motel and grinned at the sight of Castiel. However, his grin didn't falter - but grew wider - at Castiel's words. John had no time to defend himself before Dean was clinging to his leg and pulling pathetically at John's leather jacket with wide eyes.

"Please dad! His parents are horrible! They're gonna kill him, you gotta let him come with us, pleasepleaseplease!"

Dean wasn't one for begging, nor was John one for listening, but there was something off about Castiel that begged for John to find out the truth. He opened the Impala's trunk and tossed their bags into it, grabbing Castiel's from him and throwing it in with everything else.

"You can come with us, for now." Castiel's eyes went wide - he apparently hadn't expected John to agree to the arrangement. John held up a finger, stopping Castiel from expressing any form of gratitute. "BUT. I can't be dragging another kid across the damn U.S. Its bad enough I've already got two with me."

Castiel grinned nonetheless, holding his book to his chest and looking like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "That's perfectly fine, Mister Winchester. I'm well aware that children are considered a burden, I wouldn't expect anything more from your family, you've already done enough." Castiel shifted awkward, but then took John's hand and shook it. John, speechless, watched the child climb into the back seat with Dean and grin at his son.

John watched the two boys interact, and a warm feeling bubbled up in his chest. He knew that feeling all too well.

"... God dammit."

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!

=D

As you can probably already tell, all of these have no particular order. I've put their ages at the top because each fic jumps around to various times in their lives.

I got a full time job at a Chick-Fil-A. Oh god, someone kill me now.


	6. Nightshifter

Title: Nightshifter (redux)  
Rating: PG-13 (violent imagery)  
Characters: Castiel, Dean, & Sam Winchester  
Pairing: Slash  
Summary: Cas had a feeling their current predicament would be a lot easier to handle if it really WAS a 'mandroid' that they were dealing with, not a shifter.

Dean: 25  
Castiel: 28  
Sam: 21

* * *

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Castiel hated waiting. He hated flipping a coin, too. He was pretty sure Dean had rigged the coin to always fall on the opposite of whatever Cas picked and that's why Castiel was always stuck sitting in the Impala while Sam and Dean got to see all the action. (albeit, at the moment, action was just sitting and watching the security cameras of the bank they were currently inside of.)

His phone went off, Hell's Bells (a ringtone Dean had set for himself) echoing through the interior of the Impala. Castiel flipped the cell open and brought it to his ear.

"I'm here. " He rumbled. Dean's voice was sharp, urgent.

"Found him, the bank manager. Get in here." Dean barked. Castiel clambered out of the Impala, fully dressed up in business attire and prepared to act the part of an angered customer.

Castiel was halfway up the steps when he caught sight of the security guard from last night's investigation- Ronald Resnick. Thinking quick, Castiel held a hand out.

"Hold the door, please!" He brought his briefcase (filled with silver-laden knives) up as if it was heavy. The man froze, clutching to his duffel bag like a deer caught in the headlights before quickly opening the door for Castiel to slip by. "Thanks, pal." Castiel breathed, trying to lighten his voice from its normal rumble.

Ronald nodded his head quickly, entering after Castiel and shutting the door. Castiel didn't bother to glance back at him, making a beeline for where Dean and Sam were leaving the security room. Castiel lifted a hand to point back up the stairs but before he could get a word out, Ronald's voice yelled out over top of him.

"This is NOT a ROBBERY! Everybody, on the floor, NOW!" Gunshots followed and Castiel instinctively ducked, whirling around to see the man now holding a semi-automatic and looking just the slightest bit out of his mind.

"Calm down, buddy! Just calm down!" Dean barked from behind Castiel. Cas glanced back over his shoulder to see Dean and Sam approaching, hands up. Ronald's face went from determined, to shocked and enraged.

"wha- YOU!" Ronald's gun went from pointing at the ceiling to pointing straigh at the two brothers. Castiel felt something in his chest tighten up as Ronald stormed right past him to train the gun on Dean. "Get on the floor! NOW!" The man roared. The reaction was instantaneous, and Dean and Sam both got down on their knees, Dean speaking for the both of them.

"Okay, we're doing it - we're doing it. Just don't shoot anybody; especially us-" Dean's attempt at a joke was cut off with a wave of Ronald's gun. Castiel started to stand up from his crouch.

"Who are you working for? Th- the men in black? Is that it? Or are you working for the mandroid?"  
"We're not working for the mandroid!" Sam sneered. The gun went from Dean to the youngest Winchester in an instant.

"I ain't talkin' to you!" Ronald cried angrily, jerking his gun around. "I don't like you!"

Sam leaned back just the slightest bit, shrugging halfheartedly with a mutter of, "Fair enough."

Castiel stood slowly, making his way towards Ronald while the man was focused on Dean and Sam. He held up the briefcase high over his head, prepared to take a swing when Ronald caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around, jabbing the end of the gun into Castiel's gut.

"Don't move!" The man snapped. Castiel froze, holding his breath in shock for a split second and slowly lowering the briefcase. He glanced over to see Dean's wide eyes watching him with a silent plea, asking Castiel to step away. Ronald jerked the gun over to Dean and Sam. "Get on the floor! Over there! Now!"

Castiel was quick to move, instantly obeying the orders and trying his hardest to look like a frightened victim. (With the way Ronald was staring, Castiel felt he needed to work on his acting). Ronald pointed to one of the bank tellers, jerking his gun over to the three of them.

"You, pat them down, make sure they don't have anything on guy too. I don't like the way he looks." The last bit was said with a jerk of his gun at Castiel. Cas shared a look with Dean and Sam, weighing the options of rushing the man. A tiny jerk of Dean's head told Castiel that, no, they were not going to screw the job just because of this douche.

Castiel pursed his lips and watched the bank teller approach, patting down his trenchcoat and pockets before moving on to Sam and Dean. Castiel had made sure to secure all of his knives in the briefcase he'd brought with him, nothing was on his person besides the clothes he wore. Dean, on the other hand, had apparently stashed a small silver knife in his boot.

"What? I'm not just gonna walk in here naked!" Dean hissed to Sam (after the reproachful look his brother had given him).

Ronald sneered, ever cocky, and was quick to dump the knife where Dean wouldn't be able to retrieve it. Castiel glanced down at his briefcase, and then back up to where Dean was motioning for Ronald to come closer.

Castiel watched the exchange with mild interest. Dean was almost always the first one to humor someone, like he was itching to tell people about their lifestyle. Castiel and Sam, however, didn't.

"Take me. Take me with you - take me as a hostage." Dean blurted. Castiel whipped his gaze back to the taller man with wide eyes. Dean glanced over at him but quickly looked away to avoid being reprimanded by Castiel's expression alone. "Look at me, man. I believe you. You're not crazy," Dean lowered his voice so that Ronald had to lean in with wide eyes. "There really is somethin' inside this bank."

The next thing Castiel knew, they were all moving en masse towards the giant vault in the center of the bank. Dean was right behind him, but when Castiel tried to turn around and say something to the other man, he recieved a shove to the back via Ronald's gun. They crowded into the vault, Castiel and Sam being the last to enter, and watched Dean slowly close the door.

"Who is that man?" A young clerk breathed, looking to both Sam and Castiel. The two dark haired men exchanged looks and then glanced back to the door.

"He's my brother." They said in unison. The girl sighed wistfully, placing a hand to her chest.

"He is so. brave."

Castiel's already foul mood became even darker. Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. The girl hovered them, asking questions about Dean that neither Winchester felt like answering.

Castiel quickly walked away, pressing his hands against the door and feeling around for anything that could possibly get them out. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dean, it was more that he needed something to occupy his mind from the annoying girl with a hero complex. Sam came up behind him, nudging shoulders with the older man. Castiel nudged back and looked up at the door with exhasperation.

"These circumstances are not the most... ideal. I would have much preferred that we didn't have to deal with the imbecile walking around with a gun." He grumbled, placing a palm against the door. Sam chuckled dryly, opening his mouth to say something whenever the bank clerk came up behind them.

"Has your brother always been so wonderful?" She asked. Castiel turned to stare her down and Sam pressed a hand against his wrist to stop him from saying anything cruel. She continued on, oblivious. "I mean... staring down that gun... and the way he played right into that psycho's crazy head, telling him what he wanted to hear. He's a real hero- or something..." She clasped her hands together and Castiel sent Sam a pleading look. Sam rolled his eyes in response.

The vault rumbled and the door was pulled open to reveal Dean, this time holding a hand gun. The clerk girl went into instant hysterics about how Dean had saved them, until Dean held up a hand and motioned to Sam and Castiel.

"Sam, Cas... Ronald and I need to talk to you." Dean muttered. They slipped out of the vault, letting Dean close the door after them. Castiel reached out a hand to Dean's shoulder and the younger man held his wrist, eyes silently telling Castiel to wait. Cas pursed his lips, withdrawing his hand with a scowl.

"It shed its skin again." Dean began, talking to the both of them quietly. "We don't know where it is. Could be in the halls - could be in the vault."

Sam held up a hand, voicing the question that all of them were thinking. "Dean... how the hell are we gonna get out of here?" He hissed. Dean glanced away to snap at Ronald, who'd wandered into the spotlight, and then looked back at Sam and Castiel. He shrugged.

Castiel brought a hand up, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Dean, this is a terrible idea." He groaned. Dean shrugged weakly, giving Cas an even weaker smile. Castiel rolled his eyes, turning away from the other man. Dean pressed a hand against his back, gentle and comforting - a silent apology.

Castiel lifted up his briefcase in response, opening it to reveal a small collection of knives. Dean's face lit up instantly, grabbing one of them and then handing another to Sam. There was a momentary pause, and Castiel glanced over to Ronald before shutting the briefcase. "I think giving him a knife isn't going to make him any more useful than he already is." He said. Dean chuckled dryly, reaching out to ruffle Castiel's hair. Castiel rolled his eyes, accepting the sign of affection with a smirk.

They split up, Dean and Castiel venturing deeper into the bank while Sam went with Ronald to watch over the hostages.

Ten minutes of fruitless searching had Castiel looping back to try and find Dean. It was then that he heard the raised voices coming from where Sam was stationed at the vault. Castiel approached quickly, knife drawn to see the security guard being held by a black man who was too busy yelling at Sam to notice Castiel's approach. Sam was on the phone, most likely talking to the police, which did nothing to help with Castiel's escalating stress. The oldest Winchester took advantage of the fact that the man yelling at Sam wasn't paying attention. He loomed up behind the guy, knife drawn and held close to the man's throat.

"Get. Back. In. The Vault." He snapped, patience already worn thinner than it had been in years. "And shut your mouth."

The man released the security guard, stepping back away. Dean came jogging up, gesturing to the two of them. They spoke quietly while Ronald deemed himself the one to monitor the hostages.

"Shifter's changed again, he's here. You had him, Cas." Dean jerked his head to the scowling black man that hovered just beside the vault door.

"Well, first thing's first. We have to get that security guard outta here. They're bringing a paramedic up." Sam gestured to the man who was standing with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily - face flushed and sweaty.

"I'll help the guard, you get the shifter." Castiel said. Dean and Sam nodded, and Castiel moved to help the older man to his feet. He hadn't walked the man five feet when the sound of a scuffle reached his ears. He looked up in time to see the shifter streak past. Castiel instantly released his grip on the guard and bolted after the man.  
They ran through the spotlight - Castiel wasn't worried about it because he probably looked like an escaping hostage to the men outside - but the sound of Sam's yelling, followed by a gunshot, caused Castiel to drop to his knees and duck behind a desk.

He turned, eyes falling to Ronald's crumpled form and then up at Dean - who was ducked down somewhere on the other side of the spotlight. For a split second, Castiel had thought it was Dean who'd been shot. The panic that tore through him in those few moments had been suffocating. The only thing he felt was relief that Dean was alive, and it almost made him feel guilty that Ronald's death held little meaning to him.

Dean caught his gaze, eyes wide as Sam slid up next to him. Castiel nodded once - letting them know he was going after the shifter - and left Dean and Sam to figure out the situation with the guard.

* * *

I'm sure 90% of you figured out somewhere in reading this that its a rewrite of the ep 'nightshifter' with Cas. Kinda lame, I know, but I felt like indulging myself a bit. they're also younger in this. and Cas and Dean just might be together. YOU NEVER KNOW. I'm going to shut up now.


End file.
